


Distant Echoes.

by paint_it_gray



Series: Silver Linings [3]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: ;), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Character Death, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 11:36:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16367129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paint_it_gray/pseuds/paint_it_gray
Summary: Maybe. That's already more than he deserves. More than he expected.





	Distant Echoes.

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, it’s done! I don’t remember how long I’ve been working on this piece of shit because I didn’t want to work out nicely, but I’m proud and happy that I finished this project in the end!  
> I’m not sure I’m 100% satisfied with the final outcome, but it’s definitely okay ^^  
> But I promised to write a sequel for Dead Roses, so here it is.  
> As always, I appreciate every like, every comment, every reblog and every read in general. It’s the best kind of motivation to write more. <3  
> Anyway, I’m rambling.
> 
> Enjoy! :)  
> \- MJ

 

The door has barely closed behind him and he’s taking off his coat when he hears Mario calling for him.

“Hey, Luka! Šime sent another postcard.”

He hurries to get his shoes off and lets his coat and scarf fall to the floor without further notice instead of hanging them up like he usually does. He grabs the two steaming cups of coffee he picked up on his way home and makes his way to the kitchen where passes the wall with all the other postcards Šime sent. As always, he halts for a moment and lets his gaze wander over the cards, pinned to a steel cable on the wall. Sydney, Auckland, Tokyo, Tanzania, Cape Town. That’s only a few. Sometimes Luka gets a little jealous of Šime and how much beauty in this world he has already seen.

He moves on to the kitchen. “Really? Where is it from this time?” he asks as he places the coffees on the counter and tries to get a look at the postcard Mario is holding. It’s been a while since they’ve heard from Šime.

“Cienfuegos, Cuba.” Mario looks up at him and smiles.

“Cuba? What’s he doing there?”

Mario walks over to Luka and wraps one arm around his waist as he rests his chin on Luka’s shoulder.

He starts reading. “Dear Luka, Dear Mario. I write this postcard to inform you that I am both alive and well. I apologize for not writing to you sooner but since I decided to stay in Cienfuegos for a while, this postcard took its time. Cuba is very new and very refreshing. I guess you could say that I enjoyed it.”

They look at each other with a knowing smirk before Mario continues.

“During the four months I lived there, I met a lot of astonishing people and I believe I learned quite a lot as well.  For instance, I became acquainted with another hanahaki survivor. We shared our stories and talked about the aftermath of it. I think it gets easier over time even if I still can’t get a grasp on what feeling used to be like. As interesting as Cuba was, there’s still so much of the world left I want to see, so expect to hear from me soon. I hope you two are doing alright as well. Greetings, Šime.”

“Good to know he’s okay. I was starting to get worried.” Luka relaxes and leans against Mario.

“Yeah, me too.”

They enjoy their moment for a while.

“I’ll put it up at the wall with the others, okay?” Mario says and the comfortable silence is over.

“Sure. And then we’ll have some coffee.”

Mario turns around again and grins. “You brought coffee?”

Luka nods.

“God, I love you,” Mario says while he’s already walking away. He doesn’t see Luka’s soft smile anymore.

 

-*-

Dejan walks through the streets of Liverpool alone. He isn’t truly alone but everywhere he looks are happy people.

Couples walking the streets hand in hand. Not even consciously acknowledging each other, both lost in their own world and still together.

He sees a pair of soulmates, their mark all too obvious on their bare necks and his heart aches.

“Are you okay, Dejan?” Mo asks.

“I’m just thinking about Šime. I wonder where he is right now.” Dejan stares after the soulmates disappearing in the crowd and he feels heavy. His legs, his arms, his head. He feels like a weight is pulling him down.

“I’m sure he’s fine, Dejan.” Mo places a hand on his shoulder. It’s meant to be comforting but it just makes him feel heavier.

“I hope so,” he whispers and he’s almost sure that Šime is not.

 

-*-

The room smells heavily of antiseptic. He’s gotten used to it by now but the sharp smell still tingles in his nose every time.

“Hello, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mister Vrsaljko.” Doctor Santiago is holding out a hand for Šime and smiles at him.

Šime doesn’t hesitate to shake his hand and smiles back. “The pleasure’s all mine.” It’s of course just a phrase he uses to express politeness. He can’t actually feel pleasure. Still, people tend to be more at ease around him if he’s faking all his smiles and feelings.

The Doctor makes a gesture to the chair opposite his desk and they both sit down.

“As you know, I talked to Doctor Nemec to talk about your medical history,” Santiago says. Šime doesn’t do his monthly check-ups with Doctor Nemec anymore. Sometimes he follows his recommendation about a Doctor he knows, who is close to where Šime is staying at the moment. Sometimes he only acknowledges them, sometimes he takes him up on the offer. He just doesn’t fly back to Croatia anymore. He simply doesn’t want to. It always seems so heavy with memories that have become dull and grey, no matter how hard he tries to remember their beauty.

“Of course,” Šime replies and nods once.

“This will be just like the regular check-up you should go through every month. Do you have any questions or is there anything I need to know before starting?” Doctor Santiago looks at him with kind and warm eyes but Šime doesn’t care.

“No,” he says while his hand absentmindedly brushes over his thigh where he knows that broken skin lies underneath the fabric.

 

 

-*-

“Have you heard anything from Šime lately?” Ivan asks Domagoj as they’re jogging around the site for warming up.

“No.” Domo shakes his head. “Not since I met him on Santorini. He seemed to be fine though.”

Ivan raises his eyebrows in surprise. “You met him on Santorini?” He didn’t know that before. They’ve all talked about Šime, of course. Everyone is constantly worried about him. It’s a weight they’ve all been carrying since the World Cup.

“Yeah, it was pure coincidence. We met in a restaurant, he was there alone and I saw him and invited him to sit with us. We spent some days together until he left. He said something about Cuba.”

Domo smiles at him and Ivan wonders how Domo is able to treat this whole situation with such a light-hearted attitude. He never seems uncomfortable when someone mentions Šime like Dejan does, and he always talks about him with a bright smile on his lips. Ivan envies that.

“But you were in Greece like… four months ago?” He turns his focus back on the way in front of him so he won’t trip and fall.

“I know,” Domo replies and chuckles. “If you want to know something more… up to date, you should probably ask Luka. Šime mentioned that they’re in contact.”

Ivan nods and stares at the ground in front of him.

 

-*-

It takes a lot of courage for Dejan to dial Luka’s number. They haven’t been on the best terms lately. Not that Dejan is surprised, he knows why and he understands. Luka barely talked to him during the last international break and Dejan knows that Luka doesn’t want him to come over and talk. But he needs to know if Luka really is in contact with Šime. He just has to.

“What do you want, Dejan?” Luka doesn’t sound mad. He sounds tired and exhausted.

“Look, I know we haven’t been on the best of terms lately-“

“Now that’s the understatement of the century,” Luka mumbles quietly. When he realizes that Dejan obviously heard him and stopped talking, he adds: “I’m sorry. Go on.”

“So, we’re not on speaking terms, I know that, but I really need to talk to you.” Dejan prays that Luka won’t say no.

“Why?” he asks.

“Šime,” Dejan replies and it’s quiet for a while. Quiet enough that he can hear Luka’s footsteps as he walks back and forth.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Luka finally says and Dejan’s shoulders slump. “But I’ll be in Turin for winter break so you should go there if you want to meet up.”

Dejan can’t help the sigh of relief escaping past his lips as he leans his head back with a small smile on his lips. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Text me when you’ll be coming to Turin, okay?”

“Okay, see you then.”

He smiles when Luka hangs up on him. It’s like a weight has been lifted off his chest and shoulders. He’ll get to talk to Šime.

 

Luka waits for him at the airport. Dejan almost doesn’t recognize him because of the dark red scarf that hides half his face.

He chuckles. “Hey, Luka.”

“Hi,” he says and hands him a cup of coffee. It’s still hot and Dejan gladly curls his fingers around the warm cup.

“You even brought me coffee?” Dejan takes a small sip. God, this tastes like heaven.

“I’m not that cold.” Luka smiles. It almost feels like they’re back to the way they used to treat each other before this whole soulmate mess started. It feels nice not to be regarded like he’s some kind of criminal for once.

“Come on. Let’s go.” Luka pats his back and starts moving towards the exit.

Dejan follows him like a lost puppy. He’s always two or three steps behind Luka, his gaze fixed on the captain’s heels. He tries to tell himself that he’s trying to be invisible because he doesn’t want to be recognized by paparazzi, but the truth is that he’s not as ready to face Luka as he thought he was.

Everything about the midfielder screams ‘I’m uncomfortable’. His voice, his posture, his eyes.

And Dejan feels that overwhelming sense of guilt wash over him again and again in merciless waves.

Luka doesn’t mention it. He keeps his pace in front of him and doesn’t slow down to join Dejan in his self-pity. With a little distance between now and their last meeting, Dejan can see Mario’s impact on him. He seems to care less about unimportant opinions. His attitude is way more present. They seem to balance each other out, to find their middle.

Dejan wishes, Šime could be something like that to him.

 

“So. What do you want to talk about?” Luka asks as he pulls out of the parking lot and onto the road.

Dejan stares down at his feet and shifts around. “I heard you’re in contact with Šime.” He prays for it to be true.

“Who told you that?” Luka has his eyes fixed on the traffic in front of him, never getting distracted by Dejan’s nervous fidgeting. His hands are firmly wrapped around the steering wheel.

“Domo. …Kind of.”

Luka furrows his brows in confusion. “How does he…?”

“He mentioned something about meeting Šime on Santorini and he told him.”

Luka opens his mouth and closes it again without saying anything, but a sudden sense of realization seems to dawn on his face.

“Interesting,” he says.

“Are you?” Dejan needs to know. He just needs some kind of light at the end of the tunnel.

“Well, he is in contact with us, that’s for sure. But we're not exactly able to… respond.” Luka hesitates with his choice of words and when Dejan looks at him, there’s an unsure smile on his lips.

“Uhm…?” He frowns.

“He’s writing postcards,” Luka says, “From everywhere he goes. It’s a constant. We have about 15 so far. But he always - and he made that clear - sends them off on his last day there. Even if we were to write back, he wouldn’t receive it. And he doesn’t use his phone. At all.”

“Postcards?” Dejan can’t really believe what’s happening. Did he come to Turin for postcards? He’s trying not to feel disappointed. At least, this is better than nothing at all.

“Yeah. Mario and I are the only ones who are in contact with him that ‘frequently’. The last one he sent came from Cuba about three weeks ago,” Luka replies.

“Oh.” It’s the only thing Dejan can get past his lips.

They don’t talk for the rest of their drive.

 

Luka pulls into a driveway leading to an underground car park and Dejan frowns.

“Where are we going, exactly?”

Luka sends him a look like he’s lost his mind. “To Mario’s apartment? And, well, my parking spot first. He does not live in the basement,” he explains and chuckles at his own addition.

“Oh. Are we?” Dejan mutters under his breath. He scratches his head and starts to bite on his cheek.

“Yeah, of course, we’re going to Mario’s place. Where do you think I’m staying when I’m in Turin? A hotel?” Luka raises an eyebrow as he maneuvers the car into its parking spot and smirks.

Dejan tilts his head. “Not exactly, but…” He stresses every word as long as possible.

“But what?” Luka chuckles again and it makes him feel like a child. Like he’s missing the bigger part of the punchline of a joke that was made at his expense.

“Well, are you sure he’s okay with me coming here? I don’t think he’ll appreciate seeing me.”

The engine dies down and Luka meets his gaze. He smiles a little at Dejan’s helpless expression. They both know that Mario and Dejan have had a complicated relationship over the last few months. In fact, if he’s not on good terms with Luka, he’s at war with Mario.

“He’ll be fine with it,” Luka says. He doesn’t sound convinced. “Eventually.”

Dejan snorts. “The last time we saw each other he broke my nose when he punched me in the face.”

“You deserved that.”

Dejan inhales and he’s about to say something when Luka shakes his head and gets out of the car.

“Now, shush. You’re getting on my nerves.”

And like an afterthought, like a piece of mind said out loud by accident, Dejan can hear him say: “You should learn to deal with the consequences your actions have caused.”

Can he really argue with that? Luka is absolutely right. He’s aware and it doesn’t bother him. The sole thing that continues to be frustrating is that people look at him and the only thing they see is the guy who broke Šime’s heart, his spirit, and who’s responsible for taking something as precious as feelings away from such a beautiful soul. It is the truth, of course. The compass etched into his skin is still there to prove it. But sixteen months is a lot of time. A lot of time to think.

He’d like to think that he’s changed to be a better person, at least.

With a sigh, he gets out of the car and follows Luka to the stairs.

There’s nothing he can do anyway.

 

“I’m back!” Luka calls into the apartment as he holds the door open for Dejan.

He takes a cautious step inside and his eyes fly from one thing he can see to another. He’s waiting for something. For the sign that tells him, he shouldn’t have come here.

“Did you bring coffee?” That’s unmistakably Mario’s voice.

“Yeah, you lazy dipshit.” Dejan blinks. He didn’t even notice the third cup of coffee Luka had with him.

“Dipshit? A little more creativity, please,” Mario shoots back, unbothered by Luka’s affectionate insult.

Dejan looks at Luka who smiles and shakes his head.

“Come on.” He makes a gesture for Dejan to follow him and walks down the hallway.

The first thing he notices are the postcards on the wall. He stops to stare at them. Each is from a completely different part of the world. Kairo, Mumbai, Seoul, Rio de Janeiro, Bergen. The card from Santorini catches his eye. Next to it, there’s a photograph pinned to the cable. When he looks at it, Domo and Šime are smiling at him and even though the joy doesn’t reach Šime’s eyes, Dejan’s heart feels heavy with guilt.

If only he could talk to him.

He’s not even sure what he’s expecting to get from that. It’s just something in his heart that tells him he should see Šime. Maybe it’s just their soulbond tugging on a dead end. But Dejan feels like he could breathe a little easier if he talked to Šime.

“What is he doing here?”

Mario’s cold voice rips him from his thoughts without mercy. He turns around to face him and a shiver runs down his spine. Mario’s eyes are narrowed and his arms crossed. He is just staring at him like he’s only waiting for him to make a wrong move.

“He’s visiting,” Luka says before Dejan can even think of something to reply.

“Visiting?” Mario raises an eyebrow.

“Look, Mario, I’m sorry,” he jumps in, feeling the sudden need to defend himself. “I’m sorry about everything that happened and-“

“Sorry?” Mario scoffs. “You’re sorry?! You’re over a year late for being sorry!”

“I know.” Dejan averts his eyes.

“That’s good but it doesn’t help Šime either.”

Luka sends Mario a warning glance. “Mario…”

He turns to Luka with his expression still as cold as the one he gave Dejan. “And you! What were you thinking, bringing him here without even telling me!”

Luka takes a step backward and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “You would’ve said no either way! What difference does it make?!”

“Maybe the fact that this is my apartment and you don’t get to decide who comes here and who doesn’t!”

Dejan tries to say something. This is his fault after all. It would be better if he just left.

“Why are you so fucking stubborn about this?! Doesn’t Dejan deserve a second chance too? We all make mistakes and I think we don’t get to judge people on their mistakes. Not us.” Luka already interrupts his thought before he can even open his mouth.

“What are you saying?” Suddenly Mario’s voice is carefully quiet. He takes another step towards his soulmate.

Luka stares up at him, unafraid to face Mario’s unspoken challenge. “I’m saying that this is our fault too!”

“Excuse me?”

Luka sighs with a hint of despair and runs his hand through his hair. “Can’t you see that?! We were the only ones who knew, we should’ve kept Šime away from Dejan and we could’ve told somebody!”

Those words still hurt no matter how often he’s heard them. Maybe all of this wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t approached Šime that morning at the lake. But that’s just one more what if in his life that he can’t change.

“Are you seriously making this argument about Šime now?! Really?!” Mario snaps.

“Yes, because he’s the only reason Dejan is here, okay? Maybe it could change something.” Luka’s voice loses some of its edge, it turns softer along with his expression and he reaches out for Mario.

“Hm.” The striker turns away while huffing out a small breath.

The tension between them cracks like electricity. Luka is waiting for Mario’s reaction, he’s waiting for him to say something, to apologize.

He stays quiet.

“There’s another one from the Falkland Islands by the way. I thought you’d care.” Mario’s voice sounds so ice-cold and indifferent even Dejan shivers at his tone.

With his acid words still hanging in the air, he throws the postcard onto the kitchen counter and pushes past Luka and Dejan to get to the door.

“Mario, don’t walk away from me like that.” Luka follows him and grabs his arm.

“What are you gonna do about it? Go behind my back again?” He uses Luka’s stunned silence to open the door and leave.

“Mario!”

The door slams shut behind him. Dejan winces at the sound. He turns to Luka who runs a hand through his hair and blinks rapidly.

“Maybe I should leave,” Dejan says quietly.

Luka flinches and stares at him like a deer caught in headlights. Like he forgot about Dejan standing there.

“No, no!” Luka hurries to say and sighs. “He’ll come around. Let him… cool off for a bit. This is just complicated for us too.” He gestures towards the abandoned postcard lying on the kitchen counter. It looks a little helpless.

Dejan keeps quiet.

“Come on,” Luka says and he sounds exhausted. “I’ll show you where you can put your stuff.”

Dejan even pretends not to see when wipes his eyes with his sleeve.

 

When Dejan comes back downstairs, almost two hours have passed and Luka is still sitting on the couch and staring the wall with a concerning emptiness in his eyes.

Dejan halts to watch him for a little moment. His hand keeps running over his left shoulder. His muscles are tense. Everything about him shows his concern and his guilt so obviously and yet he doesn’t mention it with one word.

“Are you okay?” Dejan asks and Luka flinches at the sound of his voice. Again.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just a little itchy,” he replies and points to his shoulder. He even has the audacity to smile at Dejan like he expects him to buy this terrible act.

“Okay.” Dejan takes a step back. He knows his limits and the kind of boundaries he shouldn’t overstep.

Still, he gets out his cell phone to send a text to Mario. He won’t read it but it’s worth the try.

‘You should come back,’ it says. ‘I’ll leave if you want me to, but remember to appreciate every minute you get to spend with your soulmate. Trust me, when they’re gone you’re gonna wish you had never let them go.’

He puts his phone back into his pocket without looking at it again. Even if Mario sees the message, he’s not going to reply.

Dejan looks at Luka once more before he leaves the room to give him some space.

 

The front door opens.

Dejan’s doesn’t know when his sleep habits started getting bad enough that he wakes up from the sound of a door opening. He rubs his eyes and moves into a sitting position. He’s awake now, there’s no use in trying to fall asleep again.

His steps take him to the bathroom where he splashes his face with some cold water.

He avoids the look into the mirror on purpose.

On his way back to the guest room, he hears two familiar voices.

“Hey. Luka. Wake up.” The voice is quiet and gentle.

Mario is back.

“What? What’s wrong?” He can barely hear Luka’s voice but he sounds sleepy and his words a little slurred.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Mario says.

Dejan doesn’t realize he’s eavesdropping because he just hopes that Mario made up his mind. If that means, he’ll have to leave and start at square one with finding Šime again, so be it. He’s not letting them fall apart because of him. It’s bad enough that he destroyed his own chances at happiness. It’s not his right to do that to someone else.

When he looks downstairs, he can get a little glimpse of both their silhouettes in the darkness of the living room.  He sees Luka sitting up and rubbing his eyes, just like Dejan did minutes before, and turning his head to look up at Mario.

“I’m sorry,” Mario admits. He doesn’t raise his head to meet Luka’s eyes.

Luka is quiet for a while.

Dejan wonders whether he had enough time to change his mind instead of Mario.

“Me too,” he finally says and Dejan exhales with relief.

Mario’s head shoots up and he looks at Luka. Dejan can’t see the expression on his face but he can just as well imagine it.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Luka. You didn’t do anything wrong. I… I overreacted.”

Luka stands up and cups Mario’s face with his hands and Dejan almost turns away. He’s only now realizing how private their conversation is and how he shouldn’t be watching.

“You were right. I should’ve told you that I’d bring Dejan along. I should’ve made sure that you were okay with it. And even though you overreacted, it doesn’t justify the mistake I made, okay? You should be able to trust me in my judgment, just as I should be able to accept yours. We should probably work on compromises, huh?” Luka runs his thumb along Mario’s cheekbone.

Mario huffs out a small laugh. “Probably.”

They stand in silence for a while and Mario places his hand on Luka’s left shoulder. The gesture is oddly protective.

“Are we okay?” Luka asks as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“Of course.”

Dejan turns away. He feels hollow as his steps carry him back to the bathroom on autopilot. He feels sick. Seeing Mario and Luka like this, seeing them so close; it makes him realize that he could’ve had something like this too, had he been less blind. He knows that Šime loved him, or at least something resembling love, and he knows that he could’ve loved Šime back one day.

He stares at his reflection in the mirror like he’s waiting for an answer, for a sign in the empty stare his image directs at him. He doesn’t understand the person he has become anymore. His soulmate. He let his soulmate go. Not only that, but he made his soulmate suffer, he is responsible for taking something as precious as feelings away from Šime. And for what? For a broken relationship and friends who can’t even stand to look at him anymore. For a family who is disappointed in him and a soulmate he’s lost forever.

No matter what happens, no matter if Šime comes back to Croatia, this will always be his biggest mistake. If he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t even want Šime to forgive him.

After everything he’s done, he doesn’t deserve that mercy anymore.

 

His fists slowly unclench and he lets go of the sink as he calms down again. His knuckles are white and hurting. He moves his fingers to regain some normal feeling in them.

With a sigh, he leaves the bathroom, not looking back at his reflection again. Nobody profits from his self-pity. He should get some sleep and figure out what to do in the morning.

He has almost reached the guest room when he looks downstairs and sees Mario and Luka on the couch, both asleep. Mario is sprawled out on the couch with Luka lying almost on top of him.

Dejan almost smiles at that, with an aching pain in his chest but he sneaks downstairs anyway, trying not to make a sound. That position can’t be too comfortable.

“Mario,” he whispers and shakes him gently as he gets to the couch. “Mario, wake up.”

He stirs and blinks tiredly. “Huh?”

He takes some time to get his eyes open and focus on Dejan.

“I just thought you might want to go to bed instead of sleeping on the couch,” he says.

“Oh. Yeah.” He looks at Luka and his expression softens. “Thanks.”

Dejan only nods and retreats to his room.

When he looks over his shoulder once more, he sees Mario moving carefully. He doesn’t even try to wake Luka up, he’s letting him sleep, and gently picks him up to carry him upstairs.

Dejan closes the door behind him and stares at the wall.

He wonders what it must feel like, to have someone like that.

 

“DEJAN!”

He groans and turns around to bury his face in the pillow. Luka is a fucking menace this early. It almost makes him miss Mario. He still hasn’t really warmed up to Dejan, but they’re civil, at least. For three days, that’s a progress he can appreciate.

“DEJAN!” Luka shouts again and he can him walking up the stairs.

Still, he refuses to do so much as move. He only squints at the clock hanging on the wall. 7:13. For fuck’s sake, that little…

The next thing he knows is that the door flies open, flooding the room with blinding light and some throwing themselves onto to bed.

“OW! That was my foot, Luka!” Dejan complains.

“I don’t care. Look what came in the mail today!” Dejan turns enough to see what Luka is showing him. He’s waving a postcard through the air with a bright grin on his face.

Dejan sits up straight in the blink of an eye. “Is that…?”

Luka smiles gleefully. “Yes. It’s from Zadar.”

All the air from his lungs is suddenly gone. His heart starts racing in his chest and he’s reaching out for the paper before he knows what he’s doing. He doesn’t pay the cover any mind and turns the card around to read it.

“Dear Luka, Dear Mario, I believe it is only fair that I send a postcard from Zadar too since I am currently staying there. I think that the two of you deserve an explanation and an update on my current situation, to name the least and I’d like to see the two of you. It’s been a while. If you could come to Zadar and visit me there, I would greatly appreciate it. We can discuss everything else once you arrive. Greetings, Šime.” Dejan rushes through the words, stumbles over some of them and barely believes his own eyes at the sentences he’s reading. He looks up at Luka who is still smiling with his eyes full of joy.

“Isn’t that amazing?” He’s almost bouncing up and down on the mattress. Dejan can feel the excitement radiating off him.

“He sounds so formal,” Dejan mumbles quietly as he traces the handwritten letters on the postcard.

Luka shrugs. “He always does. That was basically a love letter in his terms.”

Dejan still frowns at the message in his hands. It’s crazy to see Šime use such formal words. He sounds like a completely different person. It’s more than a little unsettling how used Luka seems to be to that.

“Why are you showing me this?” Dejan finally asks as he lowers his hand down to the bed and looks at Luka.

The midfielder’s face falls and changes into a confused expression. “What do you mean?”

“Well.” Dejan hesitates. “The postcard is clearly addressed to Mario and you. I really think you should go but why is it so important for you to show me?” He bites down on his lower lips.

“Because you’re coming with us!” Luka replies and his voice still sounds baffled at Dejan’s disbelief. “You came here because you wanted to talk to Šime and now that you get an opportunity to do so, you don’t want to?”

“No, no, no! That’s- that’s not...” Dejan’s voice fails him and he stares down at the blanket.

“Of course I want to see him,” he continues quietly, “but I’m not sure how he… would react to seeing me.”

Luka huffs out a small breath and leans back against the wall. “Well, if I’m being brutally honest with you here, he won’t care. He literally can’t do that. If anything, you’ll see a hint of surprise on his face.”

Dejan flinches at the words curls his hands into fists hard enough that his fingernails dig into his skin.

“If you want to see him, you should go,” Luka says, his voice much softer. When Dejan looks up, he can see a small smile on Luka's lips. “Who knows if you’ll ever get the chance again.”

Dejan wonders if Luka’s words hide more meaning behind them than Dejan can imagine. But his decision is already made.

 

“I swear to God, Luka. Put that song on one more time and I’ll strangle you.”

Luka chuckles. “Then we’ll have an accident,” he replies and his voice sounds smug. “Besides, driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole.”

“Are you seriously quoting Supernatural on me? Really?” Mario looks at Luka with a death glare.

Dejan watches their bickering full of amusement from the backseat.

“And the next song I choose will be ‘Thunderstruck’ by AC/DC,” Luka grins.

Dejan has the distinct suspicion that Luka doesn’t even enjoy the song enough to listen to it 20 times in a row, he just likes annoying Mario.

Mario groans and turns around to Dejan. “How long until we arrive in Zadar?”

“A couple of hours, maybe?” Dejan replies, not expecting the question.

“Great,” Mario sighs and sinks back into his seat.

Luka giggles gleefully.

Standing in front of that door is terrifying. Even with Mario and Luka right beside him. Or maybe that’s just another reason to fuel his anxiety.

“Can you stop shifting around for a minute?” Mario asks and raises an eyebrow at him. His voice sounds less cold and less distant than a few days ago. Dejan considers it a win in his books.

“Sorry,” he murmurs and tries to stand still.

Just as Mario is about to say something else, the door opens.

Dejan’s breath hitches. He’s never seen Šime look so miserable. His skin is tanned and a few freckles are spread across his cheeks. His hair is a little bit longer and his curls a little messier. On the surface, he looks beautiful. Still, he’s smiling and it doesn’t reach his eyes. They’re empty and blank. To Dejan, it feels like staring at the sea at night. There’s no way to know what lies below the pitch-black surface.

“Luka. Mario. It’s good to see you,” Šime greets them and allows both of them to pull him into a short hug.

His gaze then shifts to him and their eyes meet for the first time in over a year. Something like recognition flashes through his soulmate’s eyes.

“Dejan,” he says with no sign of emotion. “It’s been a while.”

His voice is completely indifferent. He must have imagined the way his eyes flashed at the sight of him.

“Can- Can I come in?” Dejan asks while he’s looking at his feet.

“Of course,” Šime replies and steps aside to let him in.

He can hear the door closing as he takes in his surroundings. It’s clinically tidy. Nothing in the living room indicates that an actual person in living here. He’s been on the road for months now, of course, but even IKEA looks more lived in.

And then he notices the photographs. He takes off his shoes and his steps take him to the photos. They’re pinned to a world map, depending on where the picture was taken. They’re beautiful. Šime is in some of them. He recognizes the picture with Domo on Santorini from Mario’s apartment. There’s something captivating about them and he takes his time to look at each and every one.

“You could’ve just called or paid us a visit, you know?” he hears Mario say.

“I know. It just seemed to be less complicated that way. People tend to get too emotional at reunions like this which I cannot handle properly. I don’t take you for that kind of person but I didn’t want to take that chance.” Šime takes a deep breath. “I hope you understand and I apologize if I made the wrong decision.”

Luka chuckles. “Don’t worry, we get it…”

Minutes pass in which he can only focus on the photographs while the conversation Mario and Luka started with Šime fades into the background. The sceneries, the familiar monuments, places he has never seen before and Šime. Every picture is different and, in every picture, Šime’s smile look a little different. Sometimes it’s not even a real attempt at a smile, sometimes Dejan can barely tell the difference between lie and reality. They create a pattern, a story, and he can tell where Šime went first and where his last stop was without even thinking about the postcards in Mario’s apartment.

“Do you like them?”

Dejan jumps at Šime’s voice right behind him. He tries to regain his composure as quickly as possible.

 The conversation in the background has died down.

“They’re beautiful,” he replies and stares at one picture pinned next to Cuba which shows Šime with a woman his age. They share the same hollow eyes, the same meaningless smile. He shouldn’t feel the jealousy flaring up in his chest, there’s no reason for it. But his soulmark still aches at the thought, a dull pain he has gotten used to over the months.

“It was my therapist’s idea.” Šime takes a step forward so they stand next to each other.  “She was under the impression that documenting my journeys would let me appreciate them more.”

From the corner of his eye, Dejan can see both Mario and Luka watching them cautiously. As if they’re just waiting for the glass to shatter.

Honestly, Dejan is too.

“She was wrong,” Šime continues and breaks the tense silence without a care, “I stopped seeing her after a few months. Since you are supposed to trust a therapist with emotional issues and difficulties you’re facing and I do not possess those, it was the only logical choice.”

Dejan is at a loss for words. Countless thoughts are running through his head but his muscles won’t cooperate to form the words. He can only stand there and stare with a baffled expression on his face.

“She also thought that it was a good idea for me to return here every few weeks and stay in close contact with my former acquaintances. She was wrong again.” How these words roll off his tongue, monotonous and gray, breaks his heart. It was cracked before but now it shatters.

As Šime shifts his weight, their hands brush against each other for a brief moment and all he wants to do is grab a hold of it and never let go again. He’s so close that it physically hurts not to touch him.

“Did you enjoy your traveling?” Dejan asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

His soulmate turns towards him and tilts his head with the littlest hint of a smirk on his lips that he almost misses. “A person with average emotional perseverance would have described them as beautiful.”

For the first time that day, his voice has a soft touch to it, something gentle.

A tear rolls down his cheek.

He doesn’t try to hide it.

A warm hand, the touch so familiar, comes to lie on his shoulder as a helpless attempt of comfort. It’s heavy and drags him down only further. Dejan can’t shake off the feeling that Šime’s hand is making it harder to breathe.

“Excuse me,” Dejan chokes out and steps away from Šime.

He’s looking for a way out of this, for an escape because he can’t stand being so close to Šime. His guilt is killing him and his mind is spinning enough that he’s not sure where right and left is anymore. Why did he even come here? What did he expect? That Šime would magically be okay again by seeing him?

Everyone is staring at him. Mario. Luka. Šime. It’s too much.

He storms out and slams the door shut behind him.

He’s not supposed to be here anyway.

 

“I thought you’d be here.”

Dejan jumps at the sound of Mario’s voice right next to him. He didn’t hear the other approaching.

“Why, is the usual destination for people who need some space to get their mind sorted out?” Dejan asks bitterly and grits his teeth. He doesn’t need the company right now.

“Surprisingly, yes,” Mario replies and his voice has the exact same sarcastic edge as his.

Dejan turns his head and stares at the sea in the distance when Mario sits down next to him, just hoping that he’ll get the message and leave him alone.

“You’re a real asshole, do you know that?” Mario says all of a sudden with a voice so monotone that Dejan doesn’t dare to doubt the sincerity of his words.

“Enlighten me.” Dejan almost hisses his answer. There’s no mistaking the venom in his voice and his eyes but Mario doesn’t seem to care.

“Do you know how selfish it is, after all you’ve done to Šime, to behave like that? You’re not the one who got hurt and you’re not the one who deserves the sympathy. We warned you, you read his postcard. Did you really expect it to be different enough to be so shocked? That’s naïve and childish and you know it.” Mario looks at him with raised eyebrows.

“That doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to be hurt!” Dejan defends himself.

Mario's eyes are sparkling with fury. “You don’t even have any idea how it really feels to see him like that. You weren’t there when he got out of the hospital for good. You weren’t there when-“ Mario stops mid-sentence, he seems to catch himself and takes a deep breath to regain his composure. Dejan wishes he knew what Mario was about to say.

When Dejan looks at Mario, his face is turned towards the sea. His eyes are focused and alert, his features almost calm again. There’s something about Mario that he could never quite figure out. Something about the person he is and the way he behaves. They don’t mix too well, Mario and him, it’s always been like that and Dejan wonders why came here in the first place.

“As you may know, things always hit you harder when you actually experience them,” Dejan says. All the fight in him is suddenly gone. Just like that. Mario’s harshness is probably uncalled for, Dejan can’t be the judge of that, but maybe his words are what Dejan needs to hear. Not Luka who is too kind and too understanding for his own good. He wouldn’t say those words to Dejan if they were inevitable.

“Doesn’t mean you have to be a dramatic bitch about it,” Mario replies and smirks.

Dejan snorts quietly and they stand in silence for a while. Silence that makes Dejan repeat Mario’s words in his mind. He’s right, that’s the problem. Harsh, but right. It doesn’t matter if Šime can feel or not, he doesn’t deserve to be treated like that. Not again. Dejan can’t walk away from Šime again. He can’t disappoint him again. Even if it’s just for his own sake because Šime can’t really care about it anymore.

“You’re right.”

Mario chuckles. “I always am.”

He pats Dejan’s shoulder and stands up only to offer a hand for him to take. He stares at it, dumbfounded. It feels like a white flag, like a final offering of peace.

“Come on. Get your shit together and go back with me.”

Dejan takes the offered hand and lets himself be pulled to his feet again.

 

Luka doesn’t mention their absence when they get back and it’s already dark outside. He only gives Dejan a quick look when he walks through the door and smiles a little. If there’s something he wants to say, he doesn’t, and Dejan is grateful for that. He’s had enough for today.

“Hey Luka,” Mario greets his soulmate as he walks in behind Dejan and they share a meaningful look. It’s something else about them that Dejan can’t really understand. They seem to have full conversations by just sharing a look. Maybe it’s a soulmate thing. Not for him to find out.

“Dejan?” He flinches at the sound of Šime’s voice but he turns around to face him anyway and tries his best to look as neutral as possible.

“Yeah?” he replies and quirks an eyebrow.

“Would you like to join us for drinks? Luka and I made a fire.” Šime explains and looks at him with those empty eyes. Somehow it makes Dejan feel like he’s looking right through him like he isn’t even there although Šime’s gaze is clearly focused on him.

“Sure. Why not?” Dejan has to suppress a sigh. He was looking forward to spending the evening alone. But when he thinks about Mario’s words, the change of plans isn’t that hard.

He follows Šime to the living room and they sit down on one of the black couches in front of the fireplace. Mario and Luka are sitting on the other sofa right next to theirs. Luka is leaning against Mario who has his arm wrapped around Luka in an almost protective kind of way.

“Whiskey?” Mario offers but Dejan shakes his head.

“I’m more of a vodka kind of guy,” he says.

Mario smirks. “Suit yourself. There’s plenty of other stuff in the liquor cabinet if you want something.”

Dejan thinks about it for a moment. It can’t really do any harm, can it? He’s only trying to lighten up a little. He looks at Šime as he stands up.

“Do you want anything?” He knows the question is most likely unnecessary but he asks anyway.

“I don’t think it would change anything but harm my health,” Šime replies in his formal tone and adds: “But I appreciate the gesture.”

“Thought so,” Dejan smirks and walks over to the cabinet to get his drink.

 

It’s late when Mario and Luka excuse themselves to go to bed and it’s even later when Dejan finished his drink.

He’s still on his first glass.

It was nice. Nicer than he thought it would be, actually, talking to Mario, Luka and Šime about everything and nothing, sharing stories and laughing.

And Šime is still sitting right next to him. Dejan isn’t sure if he hallucinates, but over the course of the evening, Šime kept looking at him with the slightest frown on his face. Like there is something about Dejan, that he can’t understand. At this point, Dejan doesn’t dare to believe even in a simple gesture like that anymore. He’s seen enough of Šime to realize that there’s nothing to fix and that he’s doing fine that way.

That doesn’t mean it stopped hurting just like that, but it might be the first step in the right direction.

“Hey, Šime?” he asks into the silence.

“Yes?”

Dejan stares into the last weak flames dancing between the logs and the ashes. “Did I tell you that my soulmark is fading?”

Šime doesn’t reply and Dejan doesn’t blame him. There’s no standardized answer to that. Nothing you can learn from a book or from asking someone else.

Dejan didn’t notice until a few weeks ago either. He’s not sure what it means or when it started to fade but the flowers framing the compass are barely visible anymore. The lines are shimmering in a light gray instead of a deep black now and the compass is already starting to fade as well.

“You did not,” Šime finally says. His voice is unsure and slow. “That is… unfortunate.”

“Is it?” Dejan replies and turns his head to look at Šime. “Does it mean you don’t love me anymore? Because if it does, that would be a good thing, right?”

Šime meets his gaze and furrows his brows in confusion. “I am not entirely sure you can classify it that way.”

He didn’t imagine it after all. Something about Šime is off ever since Mario and Dejan returned. It’s something in the way he looks at Dejan. It sends shivers down his spine and makes him wonder what that’s supposed to mean.

The flames are slowly dying in the fireplace as he watches them. Only a few small flames and the glowing embers are left, bathing the room in softly dimmed lights.

“Do you remember that morning by the lake?” Dejan asks quietly.

“I believe so.”

He can feel Šime looking at him, he can feel how he comes closer, how he almost touches him but doesn’t.

“I meant what I said, you know? I’m sorry about the way I treated you,” Dejan whispers. The weight on his shoulders feels a little lighter, now that he can finally get that off his chest and tell Šime. “And I still miss you,” he adds, but his voice is cracking even at the whispered words.

He doesn’t know why he’s doing it, but he turns to Šime and looks at him for a while. Now his soulmate is staring at the flames with that almost troubled look on his face. It’s just his heart speaking louder than his brain when he leans over and presses a soft kiss to Šime’s forehead and he doesn’t know if he’s overstepping the line by one, or by five hundred steps.

“Good night, Šime,” he murmurs quietly and stands up but he can’t shake off the weird feeling in his chest.

“Good night…” he can hear him whisper back as he walks away, still unsure if he made the right decision.

Dejan can’t know that Šime watches him leave with scared eyes and a racing heart.

 

He wakes up to footsteps on the parquet and blinks tiredly. It’s still dark inside the room and he’s barely even conscious.

“Dejan…,” Šime mumbles and his voice sounds hectic and concerned. “Dejan, I can’t breathe.”

He sits up in bed, suddenly wide awake, and stares at Šime who is standing in front of him, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to another and he’s shaking. Šime looks down at him, his chest rising and falling rapidly and his eyes… his eyes are filled with fear.

“What?” Dejan chokes out and scrambles to his feet.

“I-“ Šime sucks in a desperate breath and his hand clutches the fabric of his shirt above his heart. “I can’t breathe.”

Dejan tries to steady Šime with putting his hands on his waist and his fingers brush along Šime’s ribcage, just barely, but it’s there and his soulmark feels like it’s on fire.

Šime sends him one more panicked look. “Dejan-”

“Help!” His own voice sounds so far away. “Please help me!”

His soulmate collapses right in front of his eyes. Dejan can barely catch him before he hits the ground.

The door flies open and Luka and Mario come stumbling in.

“No, no, no, this can’t be happening, this-“ Luka kneels on the floor next to Šime, frantically searching for a pulse.

Mario is following suit but he seems to be way calmer than his soulmate. At least, his façade is.

“Luka.” Mario catches his soulmate’s hands in a soft but firm grip and forces Luka to look at him. “Luka, calm down. Call an ambulance. Now.”

Luka nods with hesitation and disappears down the hall.

Dejan is watching from somewhere else, someplace distant from this scene. He feels like a spectator in the audience, one among thousands, forced to watch the tragedy unfolding in front of him and still out of reach.

Mario’s hands are steady and calm as he’s searching for a pulse on Šime’s neck.

“You might want to turn away,” he warns Dejan as he places his hands on Šime’s chest.

Dejan still hears the sickening crunch of bones cracking beneath the pressure, no matter how hard he tries not to.

 

What happens next is all a blurry mess that passes him by without affecting him. He has a front row seat in the cinema and stares at the screen with apathy. The room around him is quiet and the movie’s volume is turned off. All he’s got are the picture flying past him, too fast to recognize a clear image. He knows there should be sirens. He knows there should be voices. He knows there should be noise but it doesn’t reach him. He’s still just a member of the audience.

Suddenly, a hand blocks his view of the screen and he looks up to see Mario.

The bubble pops with a deafening sound.

“Come on. We need to go.”

Dejan looks around the room to find it empty. Luka is gone and so is Šime. The paramedics must have taken him away.

“What happened?” Dejan asks and his voice cracks.

Mario shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know. His heart stopped.”

A dangerous coldness is creeping through his veins and his heart. He feels like he has been hit by a train.

“Come on now.” Mario makes a small gesture and Dejan reaches out to accept his helping hand. Mario pulls him onto his feet and looks him over with a concerned gaze. He doesn’t say anything but Dejan just knows there must be something he’s thinking right now.

“Okay,” Dejan agrees quietly.

 

Luka doesn’t even notice them when they arrive at the hospital. He’s staring off into empty space, not moving a single muscle.

“Luka, hey. Hey. Look at me.” Mario kneels down in front of him and takes his face into his hands.

Luka’s eyes find Mario’s and some of the tension in his body disappears. “Hey.”

As Mario stands up again, he pulls Luka into a fierce hug and Dejan looks away.

“Any news?” he asks with a flat voice as he’s staring at the wall.

“He’s in surgery. I called Doctor Nemec. I don’t know anything yet.” He barely catches Luka’s broken whisper in the silent waiting room.

“At least he’s not dead,” Dejan says in a nonchalant tone and leans against the wall.

He doesn’t miss the way Mario and Luka both look at him full of shock but he can’t help it. How is he supposed to express any emotions when all he feels is numb?

 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting there and staring at the wall. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours. And there’s still nothing they know. It’s just a room full of people, impatiently waiting for news and praying that they’re not going to be bad.

Mario stands up again, unable to stay still.

Luka taps his foot on the ground without even noticing it.

Dejan stares ahead while his hand keeps wandering to his ribcage, his soulmark.

They all freeze and stare up at Doctor Nemec when he comes their way with hurried steps.

“Is there something new?” Mario demands. He doesn’t even wait for the doctor to regain his composure.

Doctor Nemec swallows heavily. “Indeed, there is.”

The room is filled with tension.

Dejan sits on the edge of his seat.

Please. He can’t be dead. He can’t leave like that.

“I’ve never heard of something like this happening before,” the surgeon begins and looks at all of them, “but it appears that Šime has regained his emotions.”

 

“Why do they not let us see him?!” Luka is furious. “At least Dejan should have the fucking right to!”

“Considering Šime’s medical record, they’re probably thinking that’s not a good idea,” Mario argues but Dejan can see him clenching his jaws as well. Right now, he’s just better at hiding his fury than Luka. 

“But that’s not fair!” Luka makes a helpless gesture as he sits down on Šime’s couch.

It feels weird to be here without him present but it’s better than spending the night at the hospital. The doctors are not letting them near Šime anyway and Doctor Nemec has promised to keep them informed on Šime’s condition. All they can do is wait and hope for the best.

“I know.” Mario crosses his arms in front of his chest. “But we can’t do anything to change it.”

“How are you not absolutely furious right now?” Luka asks and buries his face in his hands.

Mario huffs out an audible breath. “Oh, believe me, I am. It just doesn’t help anyone if I scream at everything and everyone too.” He looks at Luka with a gentle smirk on his lips.

Luka groans and leans back against the couch. “What do you think about this Dejan?”

He doesn’t even realize the words are directed at him.

“Dejan?”

He jumps at the sound of his name and meets Luka’s gaze. “What?”

“What do you think? About all of this,” he repeats and watches him with curious eyes.

Dejan stays quiet. He thinks they’re right for not letting them visit Šime yet, or at least he understands why they made that decision. After everything that happened, he wouldn’t trust himself not to hurt Šime again either.

But Luka doesn’t need to know that.

“Do you think it’s true?” he asks instead and lets the little sparks of hope flare up in his chest.

Mario runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “I’ve never heard of anything like this happening before so I’d be careful with having too much hope. I do not believe in miracles but… I’d like this one to be true.”

“What he said,” Luka adds and gestures to Mario as he lies down on the couch to stare up at the ceiling.

And yes, Dejan is hoping for a miracle too.

 

-*-

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Dejo!” Mo waves at him with a huge smile on his face as Dejan gets into his car.

He only has a weak smile to offer and raises his hand as a goodbye. Ever since he came back from Zadar, everyone is treating him like he’s made of porcelain. Like they are just waiting for him to shatter and they are ready to pick up the pieces.

It’s true, Dejan is hurt. He is a little broken. But he’s not one to give up that easily. No matter how bad it still hurts when he thinks about the phone call Luka got two days after Šime’s hospitalization. No matter how much it aches when he thinks about Luka’s terrified voice when he told them that Šime had left the hospital. He just disappeared and nobody knows where he went to this day. It’s driving him crazy, but it won’t make him fall apart. He’s not that breakable.

As he drives through the streets of Liverpool, his thoughts are circling around that day. About his emotions, how he felt like he’d been hit by a train at full speed. How he couldn’t seem to breathe anymore and how he just left.

He hasn’t talked to Luka or Mario since. He doesn’t dare to. Because this is all his fault. Again.

He bites down on his lip.

If he knew that Šime was okay, he would be fine. But he doesn’t even know how his soulmate is feeling right now, let alone if he is feeling anything at all.

He figures Šime could have said goodbye, at least.

 

When he gets home, his feet are carrying him on autopilot. It’s all a routine. He gets out of the car, grabs his bag, walks up to his front door, gets the mail and is about to throw all the advertisements into the trash can.

But then something catches his eye.

He pulls it out between two sheets of paper and stares at it.

A postcard.

His heart starts racing.

What if it’s not-? But he’s already turning it around and starts reading.

‘I’m fine. Please don’t worry about me. I’m not leaving yet. And I’d really like to talk to you. Šime.’

He chokes on his breath and has to lean against the wall for support. It’s a postcard. From Šime. He can’t believe it. It seems too good to be true.

He turns the postcard back around and looks at the front.

Patreksfjörður, Iceland.

He has never heard of it before, but then again, Šime has been to a lot of places he didn’t know that existed.

And who is he to pass up on this opportunity?

 

-*-

And again, he finds himself in front of a closed door and his heart is beating out of his chest. He didn’t have much time to think about anything on his way here. Šime was hard enough to find and it kept his mind occupied. But now that he’s standing in front of that door and he finally has a moment to breathe and realize where he is, his doubts come crashing down on him.

What if Šime doesn’t have his feelings back? What if he changed his mind and doesn’t want to see him anymore? What if-?

He shakes his head and knocks. He didn’t come all this way to give up now.

“Come in!” he hears Šime’s muffled voice from inside and he carefully pushes the door open.

Šime is sitting on the bed and writing something on what appears to be a postcard. He’s wearing basketball shorts and a gray hoodie. His head jerks up when the door creaks.

“Dejan,” he breathes out. “I- I didn’t know you were coming.”

He puts the pen and the card aside and scrambles to his feet. His eyes are wide open like he can’t believe that Dejan is actually standing right in front of him.

“I didn’t really have any option to contact you, did I?” Dejan replies and tilts his head as he closes the door behind him.

“No.” Šime’s cheeks turn red and he scratches the back of his head. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Dejan stares at him. He’s not ready to believe that this isn’t all some kind of cruel dream that’s going to hurt like hell when he wakes up.

“Šime, are you really…?” Dejan almost doesn’t dare to ask.

“Feeling again? Yes.” He tilts his head back and blinks rapidly as a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

Dejan takes a step backward and his back hits the door. “Oh my God.”

When Šime looks at him, the tears are already running down his cheeks. Without hesitating Dejan steps forward and raises his hand to wipe the tears away. In the last moment, their eyes meet and Dejan freezes in his movement. They are suddenly so very close to each other that Dejan can feel Šime’s breath on his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he takes a step back again. His hand falls to his side.

Šime takes the sleeve of his hoodie to dry the tears and shakes his head. “No, I-“ He can’t seem to find the right words and the unspoken sentence gets lost in the silence between them.

Šime turns his head and runs a hand through his curly hair. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?”

“Coffee would be nice,” Dejan says just for the sake of giving Šime the opportunity to escape this room for a moment and breathe.

“Okay. I’ll be right back.” Šime is out the door in a matter of seconds and the door slams shut behind him.

Dejan exhales and tilts his head back. They used to be best friends before this mess started. Before he ruined everything. That time has never felt further away from him. Now that he’s here, he can’t remember what he wanted to say to Šime. He can’t remember how he thought their conversation would turn out. As soon as he saw Šime’s eyes with that familiar light behind them, his mind was blank. He didn’t even remember what he was thinking as he stood in front of the door.

He looks around the room. It’s small but comfortable. A black bed frame and a small cupboard. From the window, he can see the ocean and the view is just beautiful. With a slight smirk on his lips, he notices that most of Šime’s clothes are thrown onto one of the armchairs in the room and the rest of them are spread out on the floor. Even this room looks more lived in than his house in Zadar. And that’s when the realization hits him. Šime is really feeling again, he is alive again.

“I got you Cappuccino. You like Cappuccino, right? I wasn’t sure.” Šime barges into the room with two steaming mugs in hand and gives one of them to Dejan.

He accepts the coffee. “Yes, but-“

Šime looks around the room and his eyes go wide. “Oh God, this room is such a mess! I’m sorry, I’ll-“

Dejan places his mug on the small table between the armchairs. “Šime.”

He grabs some clothes and puts them into his suitcase. To be honest, it doesn’t make the room look much better.

“Šime! Stop.” He raises his voice just slightly but Šime still halts at the sound and sighs.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, “This is just a little overwhelming.”

He waits for Šime to calm down and takes a sip of his coffee. After hours of traveling, it tastes like heaven.

Dejan watches as Šime sits down on the bed and grabs the pillow like he needs something to hold on to and holding it against his chest with his mug still in the other hand. He looks adorable but also a little broken. A little too scared, a little too much like a small child, not ready to face reality.

“I feel like I’m losing it, you know?” he says out of the blue and Dejan is startled enough to spill a little of his coffee onto his hand. He winces as the hot liquid burns his skin.

“I feel everything so strongly. I start crying out of nowhere for no reason and I’m scared by every unfamiliar thing. It’s all too much and I still can’t get enough of it. Does that make sense?” He looks at Dejan full of confusion while he’s still cuddling his pillow and Dejan can’t help but smile.

“I can’t really judge because there’s no way I could ever understand what this must feel like, but I guess it’s more than justified,” Dejan replies.

“Probably. But it’s insane. I’m still getting used to smiling again. Genuinely smiling, I mean. How fucked up is that? And I don’t even know if this is permanent or just some kind of real-life dream that will pass because I didn’t stay long for the doctors to find out.” Šime bites his cheeks before taking a large sip of his own coffee.

Be grateful that you can smile at all, is what Dejan wants to say. But he doesn’t.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me and I’m fucking scared, Dejan.” His voice turns quiet and he stares at the ground. Dejan can see his hands are shaking.

“Hey… if this is too much right now and you want to talk another time, please just tell me,” Dejan says as he leans forward in his chair.

Šime smiles as he wipes another small tear from the corner of his eye. “No! God… You’re the only thing keeping me sane right now, I need you to stay.”

Dejan blinks in surprise. That was not what he expected. It still makes his heart speed up and his mind a useless mess. He knows that Šime is the one who asked him to come here but it still feels so unreal to him.

“I’m going crazy and I’m terrified and I don’t want something like this to happen again,” he says and gestures to his thighs.

It’s the first time he’s ever seen this. As Šime pulls the fabric of his shorts up to reveal what lies beneath, Dejan stops breathing for a moment. Countless angry red scars are scattered across his skin. Some of them have almost faded, others look like they’re less than a week old. Dejan gets up from his seat and walks over to Šime where he sits down on the edge of the mattress.

“Šime, what is this?”

His soulmate looks down at the broken skin and lets his finger graze some of the scars. “Despair.”

Dejan doesn’t dare to make a sound as he waits for Šime to continue.

“I just wanted to feel something. I was desperate.” His voice trembles. “Turns out, when the pain was bad enough, I could actually feel it.”

Dejan gasps. “Oh my God, Šime…”

There are so many things he wants to say, so many things he needs to ask, but he doesn’t let him get very far. He raises his hand and shakes his head. “Please don’t apologize. They’re not necessary anymore. The Šime before the surgery would’ve needed them.”

“But you’re still that person,” Dejan argues.

“I’m not. I’ve changed. I feel like some of this emptiness inside of me that has been the only thing I could feel for moths is still there. And I’m not sure if it will ever not be. Eighteen months change a lot, Dejan. I’m not entirely the person you remember. I’m not sure if I’m that person anymore at all.” Šime’s fingers are playing with the rim of the blanket. He’s still shaking and he doesn’t meet Dejan’s eyes.

“That’s okay,” Dejan tells him and hopes it’s not the wrong thing to say.

Šime’s head jerks up and he stares at him with a wondrous expression until Dejan turns away again and goes back to his armchair. Once again, they share their silence. Sometimes, Dejan thinks, that’s easier than trying to say something with words you can’t possibly find.

 

“Let’s go outside,” Šime blurts out and his voice almost echoes in the silence.

Dejan raises his head from his phone. “Huh?”

“Let’s go outside. It’s a beautiful day and I want to show you something,” Šime repeats but he still doesn’t sound completely sure about it.

“Okay.” Dejan looks at Šime’s current outfit. “You should put on some different clothes though.”

Šime rolls his eyes at him. “No shit, Sherlock,” he says and throws a pillow in his direction.

Dejan watches it hit the wall and fall to the floor unceremoniously and smirks. “You missed.”

Šime shows him his middle finger as he disappears into the bathroom and mumbles something that sounds a lot like ‘Kiss my ass’.

He missed that.

 

It’s freezing outside, but the sun is shining through the clouds every now and then and that makes it kind of bearable. The scenery is to die for though. They’re in the middle of nowhere and as they get further away from the village, he feels lighter and free.

“Who were you writing that postcard to?” Dejan asks as the walk up the hill next to each other.

“Mario and Luka. Of course,” Šime answers with a small smile on his lips. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to go anywhere without writing them a postcard again.”

“I’m sure they won’t mind,” he says but the mention of them makes him feel guilty for leaving Zadar without a word again. He really needs to call them when he gets home.

“No, they won’t. They care too much,” Šime agrees and puts his hands back into his pockets.

Dejan wonders what he is talking about. There obviously has to be a reason for him to say this. He’s about to ask when Šime beats him to it.

“I owe them a lot. They were the ones who watched out for me after I got released from the hospital. They had a lot to deal with after…” He trails off and doesn’t finish his sentence.

“I just appreciate their friendship a lot, it means very much to me.” Šime smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Dejan knows there’s something more to that story, but he doesn’t push it. He overstepped a lot of other boundaries today, it’s time to give Šime some space.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a snowball hits him directly in the face.

Too surprised to do anything, he wipes the snow from his face and blinks.

Šime grins brightly from where he’s standing a few meters ahead of him and waves.

Oh, Dejan is not going to just let that happen. He kneels down to form a snowball and throws it at Šime, hitting him directly in the chest.

“Hey!” Šime yells and he starts laughing.

Dejan stops moving and doesn’t even budge when the next snowball hits him at the shoulder. He hasn’t heard Šime laugh in what feels like forever. It sounds so joyous and beautiful and so honest that Dejan isn’t even trying to deny the tears shimmering in his eyes. Šime is laughing again.

Šime runs over to him with concerned eyes and doesn’t even hesitate to take Dejan’s face into his hands to wipe the tears away. “Please don’t cry, Dejo. You’re gonna make me cry too.”

And there’s his nickname again. Dejan closes his eyes for a moment and smiles as the tears keep coming.

“Come on, what’s wrong?” Šime asks and looks at him full of worry. He’s still running his thumbs along Dejan’s cheeks.

“Nothing, just… you’re laughing again,” he whispers and the sound that leaves his lips is a mixture of crying and laughing.

“But that should make you happy, not sad.” Šime smiles helplessly. He seems to be overwhelmed with Dejan’s emotional outburst. “Please smile. For me?”

Dejan attempts a weak smile that still the most genuine he has let anyone see over the last months.

“That’s better.” Šime looks proud and grins brightly. “You should be happy.”

“I am, Šime,” Dejan says and takes his hand, “I really am.”

Šime sends him one last look to reassure himself that Dejan means it and starts walking again.

He doesn’t let go of Dejan’s hand.

 

They are standing on the cliff in silence, close enough that their shoulders are touching. The view is absolutely breathtaking. Šime was right about that. It still feels unreal to him, standing here with his soulmate, with Šime, who actually has his emotions back. It’s a gift he never thought he would get.

He watches Šime as he closes his eyes. The wind is playing with his hair because he insisted on wearing a knitted headband instead of a hat. He said something about enjoying the feeling of the wind in his hair. And Dejan doesn’t judge him on that. He’s experiencing endless things new every day, he can guess that it’s the little things that amaze him the most.

And Šime looks fucking beautiful.

“I told you the view is mesmerizing. I don’t think I've ever seen something quite like this,” Šime says with a smile on his lips as his gaze wanders over the spectacular view. “It’s not that special. Not objectively speaking. But there’s something about it…” He trails off, staring at the ocean beneath them.

“That draws you in, something enchanting.” Dejan completes the sentence with his eyes still fixed on Šime.

The younger turns to look at him and smiles. “Exactly.”

Their eyes lock for a brief moment until Šime turns away again. It’s quiet. Just the wind howling and the waves crashing against the shore. The crunch of snow beneath their boots whenever one of them shifts their weight. It’s peaceful and Dejan would feel at ease if it wasn’t for that question burning on his tongue.

“Do you think you’ll ever be able to forgive me?”

“I don’t know.” Šime shrugs. “Maybe.”

Maybe. That’s already more than he deserves. More than he expected.

“It seems like you the reason I got my feelings back, so, I guess I owe you one,” Šime continues and smirks.

Dejan chuckles at that and shakes his head. “You don’t owe me anything. I just gave back what I took from you in the first place. Maybe we’re not yet even but you could never owe me anything.”

Šime looks at him with a puzzled expression for a while. As if he’s trying to figure out whether Dejan meant his words or not. He opens his mouth, frowns, and closes it again. Then turns away.

“You know, the funny thing is, I never really blamed you for what happened,” Šime says, “I don’t remember everything of the last few months, but as far as I can recall, I always just blamed myself.”

Dejan stays quiet but his eyes drift to Šime’s thighs now that he knows what he’s hiding. The scars on his skin.

“I still hated you. In the ways I could. But when I was at my worst, at my weakest, I always blamed myself for not realizing soon enough, for not doing more, for not telling the people who needed to know. That was the thought hidden deep inside of me. And it still is. Of course, it would be easier to blame you, and you alone. But I think we’re both at fault.”

Dejan sighs quietly. He doesn’t agree with Šime. He doesn’t want to believe that he’s not the only one who is to blame. “Šime, I don’t know…”

The younger shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. It’s done. It has already happened. Nothing we can do to change it anymore.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to say.” Dejan looks at him intently but he interrupts him before he can continue.

“Don’t, Dejan. Just don’t. You need to stop blaming yourself. Believe me when I tell you that you’re not the only one who made mistakes. Please.” He stares back at him with pleading dark eyes.

Dejan’s shoulders slump in defeat. “I can still say I’m sorry. What I put you through… it was cruel.”

Šime smirks. “Well, you basically almost killed me twice. That’s definitely a first for me.”

“I’m serious.”

Šime turns away from the horizon to look at him. His undivided focus is on Dejan now and he crosses his arms in front of his chest. Whether it’s a protective gesture or one of disapproval, he isn’t sure.

“So am I,” Šime replies and his voice is surprisingly gentle. “But I still firmly believe that there’s a reason for us being soulmates besides causing me agony. We just haven’t found it yet.”

“Seriously, Šime, can you stop treating this like it’s some kind of joke and-“

“But I’m not,” his soulmate interrupts. He’s calm and relaxed. He doesn’t even have to raise his voice to get Dejan to listen. “As I’ve said, I’m completely serious. I meant every single thing I just said to you. Dejan, you put me through hell and something even worse than that. I’m not sure how I’m ever supposed to forgive you for that.”

It doesn’t even hurt. This is the reality he was prepared for, the one he expected. He’s ready to turn away and leave when Šime reaches out for his hand and continues.

“But you’re my soulmate, for fuck’s sake!” He breathes heavily as he stares at Dejan full of despair.  “And somewhere out there is a reason for that. I won’t give up now when I’m seemingly so close to finding it. I just want to be happy for once.”

And finally, Dejan understands. He’s just scared that Šime’s reason isn’t there, that it does not exist, or even worse, that it has already been discovered. What is he supposed to do if there is no reason for them being soulmates? What if they will always keep coming together just to fall apart again?

But he doesn’t say anything and puts his arms around Šime’s shoulders to pull him closer. With a little reluctance, Šime wraps his arm around Dejan’s waist and leans against him.

Somewhere out there is a reason.

Dejan likes the thought of that.


End file.
